


Private Party

by MUSEquera



Category: Muse
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MUSEquera/pseuds/MUSEquera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is what has come to be known as my AWOL fic. All my fics have a life of their own, but this one was something else. It kept morphing as I wrote, to the point that I had not a single clue as to where it was headed. It got so frustrating that it sat in my wip folder for months, until, suddenly, it decided it wanted finishing. NOW. So here it is. Coincidentally, it seems to fit in with the  <a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://stellarclouds.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://stellarclouds.livejournal.com/"></a><b>stellarclouds</b> challenge 12, so I guess it is also my entry for it \o/</p>
    </blockquote>





	Private Party

**Author's Note:**

> This is what has come to be known as my AWOL fic. All my fics have a life of their own, but this one was something else. It kept morphing as I wrote, to the point that I had not a single clue as to where it was headed. It got so frustrating that it sat in my wip folder for months, until, suddenly, it decided it wanted finishing. NOW. So here it is. Coincidentally, it seems to fit in with the [](http://stellarclouds.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://stellarclouds.livejournal.com/)**stellarclouds** challenge 12, so I guess it is also my entry for it \o/

 

"How do you want me?" he asks, and my eyes flutter closed at the purr in his voice. I want him in every conceivable way, every permutation of possibility. But at this precise moment, with him straddling me and looking down at me with sin in his eyes as I lie on our bed, the answer is infinitely simpler. "In me." I say in a breathy whisper, and, smiling widely, he drawls, "That doesn't narrow it down much, love. You're going to have to be more specific."

Oh, damn his eyes. That's all it takes. A smile and a drawl. When it comes to him, I'm easier than a two bob whore.

His smile turns feral as he feels my raging hard-on and, planting his hands either side of my head, leans over to skim his nose up the side of my neck, whispering in my ear, "Aren't you the keen one?"

My only response is a low moan, my body aching for him, but I know it's not going to be quite as simple as that—with him it never is. "Tell me." he growls, nipping my earlobe painfully. His playfulness always has an edge of danger to it that makes my mouth dry with lust, makes me want to defy him just to see how far he's willing to take it.

I close my eyes and bite my lip, lifting my hips to try to make contact with his body, which is hovering tantalisingly just out of reach. With an aggravated 'tsk', he bites again, harder, and my cock twitches eagerly even as I yelp in pain, "Tell me." His whisper is both threat and caress, the warm puffs of his breath teasing my skin and making me shiver under him.

Knowing he won't relent until I comply, I give in, my voice unsteady and breathless as I give him the detail he wants, "On all fours. Your fingers, your tongue, your cock in me. Hard." He finally gives me what I need, his body covering mine with a sinuous roll that has me screaming his name, his voice like silk in my ear, "Good boy."

He loves to win and, for my sins, I love to give in to him. I never saw myself as the submissive type, but with him I seemed to fall into that role right from the start. I can't deny him anything, and his dominant side, when it comes out to play, is the most exciting thing on this earth, capricious and demanding as he can be.

His hand caresses my flank as he rocks into me, effortlessly achieving the perfect amount of friction, "Roll over, then." I don't want to roll over. I want the maddening, glorious sensation he's creating to continue, and I whine in protest, arching into him and rolling my head from side to side on the pillow, not quite sure whether in denial or just as an outlet for the building tension in my body.

He bites my shoulder in warning, and his hand tightens painfully on my hip before he removes himself to sit up straddling my thighs. "Roll over." he repeats. His eyes are dark as he looks down on me, and there is a spark of menace in them that makes my balls contract in a heady mix of excitement and trepidation.

He looks like a fallen angel, seductive, dangerous, irresistible, temptation made flesh, and I risk the chance of another painful chastisement to take in the sight of him:

Dark hair falling in messy clumps across his eyes to tangle with long lashes. Sharp irregular features that somehow manage to be breathtakingly beautiful. Slender frame, delicate bone structure surfacing to draw the eye at cheekbones, jaw, clavicles, hips, wrists. Skin that glows like moonlight, softer than silk, begging to be caressed, kissed, worshipped.

My hands caress his thighs as I look up at him in wonder—a wonder that has never faded in all the years I've known him—and he allows me this moment of silent contemplation, his eyes softening into a smile.

I can't help it, I need to get close to him. I arch off the bed and sit up, my hands flying to his face to rest along his jaw, thumbs caressing his cheekbones. I half expect to be rebuffed for breaking the mood, but his eyes flutter closed at my touch and his smile widens as I place a light kiss to the corner of his lips.

"I love you." I whisper, and suddenly his mouth is on mine, and he's kissing me as if his life depended on it. Before long, he's wrapped tightly around me and we're dry humping like teenagers in heat, so caught up in the moment that we forget to even breathe, lack of oxygen adding to the high until we're dizzy and panting with it.

Survival instinct overrides our need for one another, though, and we still and break apart, foreheads resting together while we catch our breath. Teeth snag playfully on my lower lip, pulling on it until I oblige and tilt my head, and he smiles in triumph, kissing me lightly.

He pulls back to look at me, his gentle, slender hand tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear and, instead of responding to my 'I love you' with his usual 'ditto', he goes completely off script, "And I love you, you sappy bugger, more than I'll ever be able to express with words."

My face breaks into a smile at the unexpected gift of his words, breath catching at the love shining through his sparkling eyes, and my heart just about explodes with joy. It's moments like this that I live for. It's not easy for him to do 'sappy stuff', as he calls it, and, despite it usually coming with a sting in the tail, I treasure the fact that he does try. It's not always easy, loving him, but being loved by him outshines everything else.

Tightening my arms around him, I drop back on the bed, pulling him down with me, the weight of his body on mine a welcome burden. "Get in me. Right now." I growl, my love for him driving my need, my body buzzing with wanting him.

Looking at me hungrily, he brings his fingers to his mouth, wetting them thoroughly. I whimper as he removes them and traces them across my lips, and flick my tongue out with a pleading look. Smiling knowingly at me, he allows me to suck them in, my saliva mingling with his before he pulls them away and rolls us onto our sides.

His mouth covers mine, capturing my needy moan as two fingers circle my hole, break through to bury themselves in my willing flesh, and start fucking me slowly, languorously, until I beg, "More." A third finger joins them, the pace increasing as my legs tangle with his in a restless effort to get him deeper inside me.

"Please..." my voice becomes a needy whine, my hands feverishly roaming his body, my lips worshipping the skin of his neck. "So impatient." he drawls, his voice rich and dark in my ear, but he lets his fingers slip out all the way, chuckling as I whimper, both at the empty feeling and in breathless anticipation.

"Turn around." he commands gently, his hand on my hip guiding me away from him, and I scramble to obey, rolling over until I'm lying on my side with my back to him, any though of my previously stated preference already forgotten. When he's like this, I'll give him the fucking moon on a plate if he asks.

I shudder at the feeling of his body moulding itself to mine as he spoons me, his lips soft on my skin as they brush against my shoulder. His weeping cock presses between my cheeks, and I press back, my hand reaching back to hold him closer, whimpering for more.

His voice in my ear as he enters me freezes me in breathless wonder. "I love you." he says, his voice soft, "I know I don't say it enough. I'm sorry. I love you." I look back at him over my shoulder, openmouthed with surprise and shock at his uncharacteristic outburst, and his warm smile before his lips close on mine will keep me happy for months to come.

He starts moving in me as he kisses me, his body pressing me forwards and his knee nudging mine higher to give him a better angle, and I moan into his mouth, my hand leaving his thigh to wrap backwards around his neck; I don't want this kiss to ever stop. I don't want him to ever stop.

He is my drug, my addiction. With him it's never enough. It will never be enough. It actually hurts, wanting him so much, loving him the way I do, and the only thing that makes it bearable is the certainty that he loves me just as fiercely. No, he does not tell me often, not with words, anyway. His is a silent, catlike love: stormy, wild and possessive; fickle, needy and physical; expressed with his eyes and his smiles, with hands and lips, skin to skin.

He finally lets go of my lips, his hand reaching up to unwind mine from his hair and, threading our fingers together, he brings both our arms down to wrap around my waist, pulling me closer until he's balls deep inside me. He stops then, holding me tight, and whispers, "I can feel your heartbeat." I whimper at his words, and, with a soft kiss to my shoulder, he starts moving again, playing my body consummate skill, as if it were a finely tuned instrument.

Perfect pitch, flawless cadence, exquisite control; a dizzying symphony of pleasure the result. I bury my face in the pillow to muffle my moans, but he pulls me back, “Don't. I want to hear you,” he says against my skin, “you sound beautiful when you moan for me.” His words and the dark timbre of his voice almost send me over the edge, but he stills, his hand leaving mine to close tightly around the base of my cock, “Not yet, my love. Not yet.”

I freeze and concentrate on breathing, but I can't help the way my body clenches around him. He cries out my name, his curling toes rasping against my calves as he tenses every muscle in his body. "That was close." he whispers after a brief moment, biting gently on my shoulder, and I can hear both a pout and the breathy hint of a giggle in his voice. "Now behave," he follows through, licking a streak up the side of my neck and nibbling on my ear as he starts moving again, "I want to make this last."

And he proceeds to do exactly that, until I'm nothing but a mewling mess in his arms, begging him for release. And every time I think that he can't possibly generate another ounce of pleasure without killing me in the process, he drives me on and on and on to new heights, our bodies moving sleekly together as one while sweat pools between us.

"Now, love. Come for me." he finally, blessedly, says, his hips setting a relentless pace, and I allow myself to be lost in the glory of his body wrapped around mine, of his lips on my skin, of his hand stroking me, of his cock hitting my prostate with every thrust until my cries fill the room.

And then I have no more breath left to scream, my whole body tensing and arching and clenching as lights explode behind my closed eyelids. I come harder than I've ever come in my life, spilling over his hand, with his voice, low and husky, urging me on until I'm spent. And then, as I shudder through wave after wave of aftershocks, my flesh quivering around him in seemingly endless ripples, he tightens his hold on me and, with something between a growl and a scream, empties himself inside me.

I smile at the way he slumps, a dead weight, albeit a light one, against me, humming exhaustedly, his stubble scratching softly as he rubs his cheek against my back, his already restless hand toying with the sprinkling of hair on my chest. “I don’t want to move.” he says, a tad petulantly, and my smile widens to a grin at his tone. “It’s ok, love, you don’t have to,” I say, covering his hand with mine to still it, “not for a while, anyway.”

My reward is a light bite to my shoulder blade, “You’re smirking. Stop smirking.” I attempt to look back at him, but it’s mission impossible, I can’t move a muscle, “I’m not smirking. I’m smiling. I love it when you are all soft and warm and floppy like this. Let me enjoy it while it lasts, yeah?” I can feel his lips curving into a smile, “Yeah, ok. Sorry. Shutting up now.” he says, placing little kisses on the bite marks and letting himself relax against me with a sigh.

For a wonder, he remains soft and warm and floppy; no twitching, no attempt to get me to move so he can lie with his head resting on my chest—his favourite sleeping position. I don’t know what has brought about this sudden—and very rare—bout of softness in him, but I feel suitably grateful, and I’m not about to question the unexpected windfall.

I close my eyes, rubbing my cheek against the pillow in contentment, and concentrate on feeling. The way his messy hair tickles my back as he breathes; his long, sensitive fingers threaded through mine; his breath, warm on my skin; the way his body moulds to mine, our breathing and heartbeats slowly becoming one pulse, one breath.

All good things must come to an end, though. Eventually, his spent cock slips out of me with a wet squelch, and all the twitching that was so far kept at bay is suddenly released, hands and feet, arms and legs; I can even feel his face scrunch up against me before he lifts his head from where it is nestled in the middle of my back.

It's over. He's back.

I sigh as he pushes off, the loss of his body's warmth making me shiver. Expecting his hand on my hip pulling me to roll onto my back, I nearly jump clear off the bed in surprise when I feel his breath on my arse, just before his hands spread my cheeks and the velvet of his tongue laps at the trickle of his spunk slowly leaking out of my hole.

I fist my hands in the sheets and bite hard on the pillow to stop myself from screaming as he greedily licks and sucks, a low hum in his throat, careless of the way my legs kick and my hips writhe at his ministrations. By the time he's done, my cock is once again hard and weeping—no matter how I spent I am, if he wants me, my body will always be ready for him.

He kisses his way slowly up my spine, one kiss for every vertebra, all the way to the base of my skull, and every soft kiss seems to radiate heat, sending shock waves of pleasure through me. "Hi." he says as his hand slips around my waist to palm my cock, and I smile even as I shudder at his touch, my voice a little unsteady as I answer, "Hi yourself. What got into you tonight?"

"Nothing yet," he purrs, his voice deep and a little bit rough, his breath skittering warmly across my skin, "but I was hoping you would." My eyes close and my breath leaves me in a rush at his words, at the sinful promise in his voice, but he's not done yet. "I need to feel you moving inside me." he whispers almost inaudibly, his forehead resting against the back of my neck, "I need you to possess me, consume me..." he stops for a moment, uncharacteristically hesitant, placing a kiss to the sensitive spot at the base of my skull, before he finishes the sentence, "own me."

There is a quiet intensity to his words that make every hair on my body stand on end. I turn around, gathering him in my arms and brushing overlong, sweaty hair away from his face so I can see his eyes. They look feverish, their deep blue almost black with desire and something else I can't quite decipher, but I have no time to dwell on it, because they flutter closed as his mouth seeks mine, his beautiful hands delicately tracing the contours of my face as we fall into the kiss.

Our tongues brush softly together, and he presses against me with a whimper, as if skin to skin contact is not enough for him, the sharp angles of his body almost painful against mine. I wonder at this strange mood that seems to have settled over him; he doesn't do needy, this beautiful, strange, volatile creature I love more than my life. Seeing him like this lights a spark of worry at the back of my mind, a protective instinct I didn't know I possessed unfurling in my chest until I nearly choke with the intensity of it.

I pull back a bit, but he follows through blindly with a small, desolate sound, his lips intent on mine again, his body fighting me as he struggles to get closer, and I instinctively respond to his need. Brushing aside my concern, I pull him tight to me, rolling us until my body is covering his, and he stops struggling with a sigh, his legs parting in welcome as my tongue takes possession of his willing mouth.

I kiss him slowly, languorously, taking my time to explore him, enjoying this unexpected indulgence—like I said, he doesn't do sappy often—and he melts under me, his body pliant and welcoming, mine to take as I will. Choking back a rush of emotion, I pull back to look at him, braced on my forearms, my hands framing his face. My heart contracts in my chest at how beautiful he looks; hair all awry, pale cheeks flushed, kiss-swollen lips parted, his glorious eyes shining bright with love and desire under heavy eyelids.

I can't take my eyes away from him, and he closes his under my gaze with a panted breath, lower lip snagged between his teeth as he arches sinuously into me, exposing his throat in a silent plea. I manage to restrain myself long enough to admire the elegant line of his jaw, the fast beat of his heart pulsing just under it, the sculpted glory of his neck, before giving in.

I lean in and put my mouth on his pulse point, sucking gently until he whimpers, and resist the temptation to mark his pristine skin by kissing down to the hollow at the base of his neck, dwelling there, savouring the salty, spicy tang of his skin.

I love his body, all of it, from the tips of his messy hair to the tips of his ascetic toes. But if you were to put a gun to my head, I would admit that this, this sweet hollow framed by the swell of his collarbones, where sweat pools enticingly, inexorably drawing my tongue to it, is my favourite part of him.

I make myself move on down his chest until I find his pebbled nipple, and he sighs my name, his hands alighting on my head, slender fingers threading through my hair to gently press me closer, urging me on. Closing my teeth on the hard nub, I pull lightly until he moans and arches under me again, whispering, “More."

I don’t need telling twice, ‘more’ is what I need—what I always need from him. I nip and suck and lick while my hand crawls across his pale chest to find his other nipple, already peaked, straining for my touch, and his sighed soft whimper as my fingers close around it seems to open a portal to our past.

My breath rushes out of me, and I freeze as, for a brief moment, I'm transported to that first breathless touch, so many years ago. To the moment when my best friend became my lover, his steady hand guiding my trembling one to that very same spot, his deep blue eyes, full of trust, intent on mine as he taught me the secrets of his body.

He brings me back to the present by pulling my hair lightly, "Where did you go?" I look up sheepishly to see him looking at me with a soft smile on his lips. "Reminiscing." I answer, crawling up his body to kiss the corner of his lips. His smile widens as he turns his head slightly so that our lips make full contact, and I know that he knows exactly what—or is it 'when'?—I was reminiscing about.

"Sentimental old fool." he mutters fondly, winding his arms around me and pulling me down for a proper kiss, "It's a good thing I took matters into my own hands, or I'd still be waiting for you to pluck up the courage to make a move on me." I giggle, and nip at his lip, "Cheeky!" But he just grins up at me, unrepentant, "Whatever. We both know it's true." And then he sobers up, his lips brushing softly against mine as he goes on, "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. It's been on my mind lately."

Ok. That stops me in my tracks. I'm wondering who this guy in my arms is, and what he's done with the love of my life. He smiles crookedly at the no doubt stupid look on my face, "No, I haven't been taken over by aliens, I know that's what you're thinking right now." I shake my head to clear it and roll onto my side, pulling him close and propping myself on my elbow so I can see his face properly, "What's going on, love? You're starting to scare me."

He sighs somewhat resignedly and rolls to face me, placing his hand carefully over my heart. Clear blue eyes lift to mine as he takes a deep breath, and hold me captive as he says, "Promise you won't laugh, yeah?" I can barely manage a nod before he goes on, his eyes leaving mine to focus somewhere in the middle of my chest and his face becoming a bright shade of pink as his mumbled words tumble over each other, "I want to marry you. Could we please get married?"

You could hear a pin drop as I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. He didn't. Surely not. I must have heard him wrong. But the way he hides his face in my chest and squirms in my arms would seem to indicate that he did. As his words sink in, I can feel an incredulous, ecstatic grin spreading across my face, and I look down at him in wonder.

I stop his twitching hands with one of mine, and tilt his chin up with my free hand, "Love, look at me." I say gently, and wait patiently until he reluctantly looks up from under his eyelashes, his beautiful eyes shadowed by fear. I watch hope chase away the fear as his brain processes the fact that I'm grinning from ear to ear, and looking at him like he's the most precious thing in the universe, which to me he is.

I can't resist teasing him though, "I'm sorry, I must have misheard. Did Mr I Don't Do Sappy just ask me to marry him?" True to form, he raises to the bait, his inability to let go cutting right through his embarrassment, and his reply is whip-fast, "Well, someone had to do it, you're not getting any younger, you know." That's my love, straight for the jugular; he knows perfectly well how much I fuss about getting old. "Easy!" I say, flicking his ear, and lean in to wipe of his insufferably smug smirk with a kiss.

When I pull back, though, his eyes are uncertain again. He traces my lips with his fingers, and his face scrunches up with worry as he says, pointedly not looking at me, "You haven't answered the question." I blink at him and, with a virtual smack to my forehead, I realise that I have, indeed, not answered the question, and the insecure little fool is now second-guessing himself.

"Of course I want to marry you, you idiot!" I blurt out, which, I grant you, is not the most romantic reply to a marriage proposal ever. His eyes fly to my face, and his smile is something to behold. "You do?" he asks, wriggling up until we are nose to nose, "Really?" Speech is no longer an option. There is a lump firmly stuck in my throat, so I just nod, rather ineffectually, a fatuous grin firmly stuck on my face.

I'm so fucking happy that there's a clear and present danger that I'll start blubbing like a girl. That won't do, though—I'd never hear the end of it—so I tell myself sternly to pull myself together and snog him breathless. I do as I'm told, and he sighs and kisses me back fiercely, clinging to me like a vine and making contented little noises that quickly morph into moans and sighs and ecstatic cries as our bodies become one.

Our private engagement party.

 

 

 

 


End file.
